And Neither of Them Turned
by CorinneStark
Summary: After the Dragonpit Summit, Dany and Jon make their way North heading towards war and revelations. As they explore their new relationship, uneasy alliances and conflict awaits on the road to Winterfell. I envision this as a multi-chapter story. We will be picking up more canon characters along the way. You'll notice that Ghost is in this. Luckily you don't need a CGI budget here.
1. Chapter 1: A Northern Education

_The City of a thousand years,_

 _And all that men had learned,_

 _The Doom consumed them all alike,_

 _And neither of them turned._ – Ancient Valyrian poem.

 **Chapter 1: Northern Education**

She studies his face in the distance.

He and Davos speak with Lord Manderly's Master of the Port who boarded the ship a brief time ago. Ghost stands next to him. Like Jon, he is a creature of winter on the sea, hundreds of miles from home.

She can't hear what Jon is saying, his voice is low and modulated. His eyebrows knot for a moment, and a slight grimace appears on his countenance.

 _Not good then._ She keeps her position on the deck. She will find out the problem soon enough. They arrived at White Harbor that afternoon after spending almost a fortnight at sea. In that brief time, she almost felt safe, like a clutch of eggs kept safely warm in a dragon's nest. She recalls fondly the memory of his flesh against hers, his expression in the moment of release, the rough beard between her thighs.

She returns from her reverie to once again examine him. His face is naturally serious. Dany is not sure if she has ever seen a face so solemn. The scar running down his cheek makes him look dangerous. His dark beard covers a youthful face. One strand of his curly black hair has escaped the plait on his head. She loves grabbing it when it is loose above her and holding it tightly as they make love.

He glances her direction and the glimpse of a smile appears about his mouth. His eyes lighten.

She did that. His mood lifts a moment just from looking at her. She beams back at him.

Her counselor clears his throat beside her. The smile slowly fades. "What is it?" Her voice is sharper than she intended.

She knows Tyrion knows.

No matter how discreet they are, the tight quarters in the ship make everyone pretend polite ignorance of the fact that Jon comes to her chambers every night. _Thank the gods, Jorah opted for the Kingsroad with the Dothraki._

She knows Tyrion disapproves.

She doesn't understand why. Before they left Meereen he talked about the importance of a marriage alliance. While she and Jon have not explicitly spoke about marriage, what better way to solidify the coalition between the North and her forces? She hasn't asked Tyrion this yet, afraid he would provide a logical reason against it.

She wants to hold on to this moment longer.

"I thought we could go over a little bit of the history of White Harbor before we meet the Manderlys. If you want to be the savior of the North instead of its conqueror, it's important you know its history."

 _Ah, he wants to play Maester today._

"White Harbor, the largest city in the North, is home to House Manderly, sworn bannerman to House Stark," she takes a moment to recall. "Their sigil is a merman with a trident. The Manderlys were Southern lords from the Reach who were driven out of their home by a Gardener king. They found shelter with the Starks of Winterfell who in turn entrusted them with the protection of White Harbor for a pledge of their loyalty. They had kept faith for a thousand years . . . until they broke it and swore fealty to the Boltons." She dryly adds, "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"So, he's teaching you." His voice sounds faintly hurt. She can't help but feel irritated by it.

"He's of the North, taught by a castle Maester, he knows his people. These are my allies, I shall know them as well."

Tyrion keeps a straight face, "Yes, I believe you are getting to know the Northerners quite well. He keeps his lessons long, lasting all night in your cabin it seems. Take care, your Grace, some Northern families may not like these night instructions."

She feels the blood rush to her cheeks and says nothing. It's the first time Tyrion has directly commented on their new sleeping arrangements. He isn't far off the mark in terms of Jon teaching lessons of the North. Between bouts of love making, she peppered Jon with questions about his family and about the North in general. He talked about the different Houses and which ones hold grudges against each other. He described watching the sun rise on top of the Wall and how the light dances on the ice. He spoke affectionately of his siblings, and he seemed genuinely excited to reunite with the two youngest when they make it to Winterfell. This surprised her a little considering Bran could rightfully claim his inheritance as the last trueborn son of Ned Stark. His voice grew soft when he related stories of his father. The image she had of Ned Stark as a ruthless dog bent on destroying her family began to change. He gave her occasional anecdotes of his boyhood, which often him left alone even as he was surrounded by his siblings and father. The feeling of being an outsider was achingly familiar to her.

Jon asked her about her life too. She told him about her childhood home in Braavos with the red door and her time spent on the run in the free cities with her brother. She spoke of how they were occasionally homeless when they weren't shuttled between rich acquaintances who often held them as oddities to be displayed at parties. She spoke of wind shifting the grass sea and how it made the braided silver bells of the Dothraki chime.

Nights on the ship soon became her favorite time of day. They were new lovers exploring bodies and learning each other's histories. The night hid them from all troubles, time did not exist, only them.

Dany looks up and sees the winter sunlight touching the grim shores of White Harbor. _Not enough time._

Not enough time, but if Tyrion thinks she's going to give up what fleeting moments she has with Jon, he's mistaken. She stands, not looking at her Hand. "I highly recommend a Northern education, Lord Tyrion. Perhaps you could find your own instructor."

She walks towards Jon who is still speaking with the Master of the Port. Davos has moved on to talk with the crew about coordinating their departure. Ghost nuzzles her hand, encouraging her to pet him. She remembers a time when he actually bared his teeth at her. "When will we be going ashore? I look forward to meeting Lord Manderly's family and seeing New Castle." She knows that Lord Manderly is already in Winterfell, but he has two granddaughters who are installed in his place at the seat of their House.

She stands as close as she can to Jon, she wants to reach out to him just to touch him, but knows that this is not the place. "Your Grace, Master Marlon has informed me that the latest storm has left the runners at the White Knife damaged, we won't be able to use the river to travel. That means more days on the road, but I think we will still be able to catch up with the Dothraki on the Kingsroad before they arrive at Winterfell."

Marlon's purses his lips in a faint gesture of disgust when he hears the word Dothraki. Daenerys focuses on him sharply. "What quarters will House Manderly provide for my Unsullied forces? It has been a long journey and they will need a comfortable place to rest."

Marlon looks at Jon hesitantly, before clearing his throat and replying, "There are a few taverns that you may board them, if they will have them. Otherwise, there is a potter's field they can set up camp three miles outside of town."

The heat rises in Dany's cheeks, almost as if this petty steward slapped her himself. _A potter's field in the snow?_ She expected that her soldiers would face worse conditions eventually. But this was just the start of their journey in a relatively large city. "Master Marlon, I may be new to the North, but it is my understanding that bannerman provide quarter to their liege lord's soldiers. Has this tradition fallen out of favor?"

She can feel the tension rise in Jon as he subtly shifts his weight in front of her. "It seems like a lot of traditions have changed," Marlon replies looking pointedly at Jon. _A bastard 'king' ceding Northern independence to a foreign whore 'queen.'_ He does not speak his words out loud, but his expression practically screams his thoughts. And yet, he uses words of courtesy that are afforded to their positions. "My apologies, your Graces," he addresses Jon, and spares a quick glance at Daenerys. "But people are reluctant to open their homes to quarter foreign soldiers. The Boltons ravaged this land after King Robb's army was defeated. The city is overrun by refugees escaping the warn-torn countryside. Everyone is leery of strangers."

Dany still has her hand tangled up in Ghost's fur and she can feel the hackles raise in the back of his neck. Jon takes a moment to weigh his words before he speaks. "Master Marlon, we know that the wars have ravaged our lands for the past few years, but these soldiers are about to risk their lives to fight besides us in the Great War. We must take care that they are strong before the real fighting begins."

Jon places one hand on Marlon's shoulder and says firmly, "We are either going to survive this together, or die alone." His eyes become as hard as flint. "You will find proper accommodations for our allies."

Marlon recognizes that this is not a request, but an order. He bows deeply, "Yes, your Grace."

She feels a little twitch of pleasure deep in her core listening to Jon speak with such authority. Her eyes lock on Jon's and he momentarily drops his mask and she sees a look of passion he normally reserves for her bed chamber.

The moment is broken as Tyrion walks up. "So, it's 'Your Grace' still, Jon? I guess they haven't heard yet that you are Warden of the North now, not King." The pleasure she feels dissipates and leaves dissatisfaction in its place. They don't recognize her sovereignty here. These are people that she will save. These are the people that her faithful Unsullied will risk their lives to protect and they won't even open their homes to them for a night.

"I have not forgotten she's my Queen, Tyrion. I haven't put much weight in the titles people have given me." He smiles wryly. "To most of them, I'm still just a bastard. Didn't you tell me to wear what I am like armor once? However, if using another title means we get what we need for our troops, people can address me by any name they like."

Tyrion considers Jon for a moment. "Fair point. But the longer people use a title, the more likely that title sticks."

The direction of the conversation troubles Daenerys. She sees Davos motioning them to the rowboat. "Now that we've settled through everyone's proper title, _Lord_ Tyrion, maybe we should follow _Ser_ Davos and get off this ship."

Ghost jumps into the boat and turns expectantly towards the others. Jon helps her in, firmly holding her upper arm in his leather-clad hand. An image flashes before her eyes of Jon gripping her by the same arm while his other hand pushes down her spine to find a better position as he takes her from behind. A secret smile crosses her face as she embraces the memory. She glances up at him and realizes his thoughts follow a similar vein. When they settle into the boat next to each other, she wiggles her bottom slightly as a silent promise of the night to come. Maybe they shouldn't. The travel ahead will be exhausting and they need to preserve their strength. She catches Jon's gaze again, and realizes she wants nothing more than to share every night with him.

Davos interrupts her thoughts. "Your dragons were spotted yesterday morning flying north over the harbor, your Grace." Davos grins. "I can imagine that got the residence of White Harbor talking."

A garrison of Unsullied led by Grey Worm greet them when they arrive on shore. Missandei is standing by his side having spent the voyage together traveling on another ship. She reaches out and clasps the hand of her Queen, glad to see her. Her eyes narrow as she takes in Daenerys vestige. She spares a quick glance towards Jon and her eyes sparkle with mirth.

Dany feels mortified. _Is it that obvious?_ She looks to Jon, but his face is blank, not giving anything away. Hopefully, these Northern strangers will not see the same thing. She turns her head to New Castle, gleaming white in the dull winter sun. The stronghold sits on a hill above the city walls and has a clear view of the harbor. Guards for House Manderly escort the party down the broad stoned road leading to the castle. The small folk line the street, curious to see the Dragon Queen and the King in the North. No one cheers, no one boos either, they hear just a quiet murmur of voices as they make their way through the city.

Lady Wynafryd Manderly and her sister Wylla wait for them in the courtyard. The Lady of White Harbor has shinny nut brown hair plaited down to her waist and is perhaps a year younger than Dany. She greets them both with a curtsy and a "Your Grace."

Little Wylla fails the formal graces and blurts out, "We are happy to see the King in the North return." The skinny child has hair dyed the traditional bright green of the Harbor that falls wildly past her waist. "I remember my House's promise, your Grace. The Wolves gave us shelter and protected us when all others turned their backs. We broke faith when the Boltons reigned terror upon us, but never again. We will stand with you now until the end."

Jon looks apologetically towards Dany. Dany shakes her head dismissively and turns to Tyrion who raises his eyebrows. _It will take time for them to recognize my authority, but I have patience and I will earn their respect,_ she tells herself. Jon softly thanks the young girl in front of him.

Wynafryd tugs on her sister's arm, looking slightly embarrassed at her sister's outburst. "Forgive my sister, she can be foolish sometimes. We welcome you both and are grateful for your presence." She acknowledges Dany before she turns her warm amber eyes to Jon with a look that exceeds mere gratitude. _Jon obviously would make a good catch for many Northern ladies._

Dany feels an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. It feels foreign to her and not at all pleasant. She brushes it aside and perfects a magnanimous expression. "I understand that your father was among those killed at the Red Wedding. I am sorry for your loss and grateful Lord Snow avenged it on the battlefield. My army and I hope to honor your father's memory by standing by you in the wars to come."

The quiet beauty graciously bows, "Thank you, your Grace." Wynafryd formerly addresses the entire party, "You are welcomed to our home and table. We extend to you our hospitality and protection in the name of our Grandfather Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor. Let us sup and enjoy each other's companionship."

The arrangement at the banquet hall puts Daenerys and Jon at the head table, but several seats apart. He sits next to Wynafryd, Dany sits next to Tyrion and little lady Wylla along with other members of the house and minor lords. Missandei joins them at the feast, but Grey Worm eats with his troops where they are being quartered at the Wolf's Den, the original fortress of White Harbor.

Conversations and wine are shared generously. Wylla soon does something to displease her Septa and is escorted from the hall to face the woman's wrath. Some fat lord tries to charm Missandei, which is not working at all. Davos speaks to someone else about the new war galleys of the Manderlys.

Lady Manderly chats with her dinner companion all night, although it appears she is the one who holds up most of the conversation. When Jon does manage to say something, Wynafryd laughs like he's said the most amusing thing in the world. Dany has finished her fish soup and lightly taps the spoon against the bowl. She hasn't caught Jon's eye all evening.

"Need more soup, your Grace," Tyrion asks innocently, although his eyes dance with amusement as he watches her and swigs down some Arbor wine.

"I'm not that hungry. I believe I shall retire early." She has no appetite for food nor present company.

"Now, I suspect the servants have spent the past couple of days cooking this meal, and there are several rounds to go." Tyrion heartedly tears into the leg of a turkey. The fat drips down the side of his mouth as he chews. "Winter has barely started and they are using their reserves. But no expense can be spared when the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the Warden of the North are the guests, can it?"

Dany listlessly picks at the meat set on her plate and glumly looks across the table at the Northern lady and Jon.

Tyrion notes the direction of her gaze. "Did you know the Boltons were trying to marry her off to some Frey boy? He was named after your brother Rhaegar, though I heard he didn't share your brother's beauty. Luckily for her, winter came for House Frey, as they say."

"I take it your lessons in . . . " Tryion pauses and clears his throat. "Northern education . . . failed to mention that Lord Manderly has a granddaughter ripe for marriage?" Jon says something to Wynafryd and she smiles broadly. "This House is the richest family in the North. As a bastard son of a nobleman who was chosen leader of the North he would do well to align himself with such a family."

"He can do better than that," she quietly states as she watches her lover eat his meal. She does not believe she has misread the situation between her and Jon. In that moment, all doubts leave her. She knows that they have a connection that is more than physical, more than the solid political alliance, more than any witticisms a clever Hand could perceive.

"Could he, your Grace? Could he really do better than that? He was named King in the North. He could be unnamed by those same people. And he's no longer King because he bent the knee to you." Once again Dany wished that Jon didn't announce to the world that he had done that. But subterfuge was just not in his nature. It was one of the things she admired about him.

"So, you are saying the man who united the North, the largest of all the Seven Kingdoms, who has led his forces against those oppressing the North and won, who more than anyone knows the threat we all face, whose family is one of the oldest and noblest in Westeros would not make for a good . . . alliance with me?" She stops short of saying marriage, somehow feeling shy about the word.

"We already have an alliance, my Queen. An alliance forged in battle and at a dear cost." he says gently. The sharp grief of losing Viserion resurfaces and almost feels it like a blow. "Perhaps other kinds of . . . alliances . . . should wait until we get to Winterfell and fully assess the situation."

"Perhaps." She continues to watch Jon at the other end of the table, the distance between them seeming even farther than before.

Daenerys stays at the banquet for just a while longer before begging off to her chambers. She notices she's been placed in a room on the other side of the castle from Jon. Missandei helps her prepare for bed, unbraiding her hair and getting into her silken grey nightgown. Dany's confidante clearly wants to hear all about what may have occurred between her and a certain Northerner on the ship. Dany diverts attention away from the subject of Jon Snow and gets her handmaiden to talk about her time with Grey Worm instead. When Missandei again tries to bring the conversation back to Jon, Dany shuts it down, claiming that she's tired and that they will speak another time.

She does not sleep.

 _He's not coming._

She waits.

 _He's in a completely different wing of the keep._

She gets up from the bed and paces the floor.

 _He shouldn't come. It's too reckless. People will find out._

She opens the shutter windows and makes out nothing in the bleak night but some lights from the windows of Wolf's Den where most of her soldiers are staying. She presses her hand against the glass and feels its bitter sting. A memory of Jon falling into the lake where her dragon had slipped beneath its waters comes unbidden to her mind. She remembers the hatred and fear she felt staring into the eyes of the Night King.

 _We have more important things to worry about right now than sleeping arrangements._

She stays by the window for what feels like hours, glancing at the door occasionally.

 _He really is not coming._

She heads to her bed, feeling like she lost a battle she didn't know she was fighting.

Dany hears a low rapping on her chamber door. She leaps from the bed and scrambles to open it. He stands there without his furs or his armor or his sword. Just his undershirt and his leather pants. His hair hangs loose without his usual stays. He could probably pass for a servant if people weren't looking closely. A particularly handsome servant that is. She smiles for a moment, then remembers the Northern girl who occupied his time all night. She puts on her most imperious voice, "What are you doing here?"

She keeps one hand on the door, not letting him in. He looks taken aback and then embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I just thought . . ." His face grows red.

"You are far from your bedchambers I believe, Jon Snow." She looks stone-faced. "May I help you with something?"

Jon looks around the hall, growing more flustered. "Daenerys, could you please just let me in?" He pushes into her room without waiting for her response.

"You are far too bold, Lord Snow. What would Lady Wynafryd say?" She is not sure why she keeps this up. She's not really jealous, she's almost amused if anything. And yet there is a part of her that feels angry that he neglected her for most of the night. She wants to pick a fight.

Jon looks confused. "Why would Lady Wynafryd have anything to say?" A dawning realization spreads across his face. "You don't think . . . you can't possibly believe I have feelings towards her?"

"I don't know, you were talking with her all night," She feels particularly petty right now. "Didn't you notice that horsey laugh she gave whenever you spoke?"

"I talked to her because I was seated next to her. You think I had any choice?" An annoyed expression settles on his face that reminds her of when they first met. "I didn't leave hours earlier like you. And here I thought the Queen had more tact than the grubby soldier."

Now she's genuinely heated. "You dare insult me?" She turns around and goes to the door not quite sure what she wants to do.

"Stating facts is not an insult." He reaches out and grabs her by the shoulder and whirls her back to him. He holds her tight and he glares at her. "You shouldn't have left."

"You shouldn't have stayed!" Dany tries pushing him away, but he won't budge. He might as well be a Valyrian steel vault door. "And what would have happened if I did? A couple of more hours of watching you entertain the Manderly girl? No thank you!" She jerks back, breathing hard.

His eyes narrow with incredulity, like it suddenly occurs to him how ridiculous this whole argument has become. Another insult is forming on her lips, but instead he pulls her head back and kisses her hard, thrusting his tongue down her throat. He releases her mouth and she stares slackjaw for a moment. She then grabs the sides of his face, pulling him down and steals his breath. "You're mine," Dany exhales into his mouth. She hikes up her nightgown and wraps her legs around his thighs.

Jon holds on to her generous ass as he walks her to the bed. She feels her center rubbing against his hard bulge and with each step he takes, a spike of pleasure shoots through her. He throws her backward across the bed and looms over her as he pulls off his shirt and tears at his breeches. She quickly loses her nightgown and sits up on her knees to once again taste his lips.

She runs her hands down the flat planes of his chest, tracing his scars with her fingers and lips. She presses her palm over his heart. It beats fast and true.

 _A knife in the heart for his people._ She wonders what else the Gods will demand during the Great War. _Not him._ The Gods mocked her defiance before when they took away her husband and her son. _He's mine, I shall not allow it._ She would tear down the heavens themselves to keep him by her side.

She finds his warm shaft, she begins to steadily stroke it up and down. She feels his hot, unsteady breath hitch against her face as he closes his eyes.

He pushes her back on the bed and grabs her by the thighs lifting her legs up as he sheaths himself deep inside her with a single thrust.

She studies his face as he rides her. His face never ceases to capture her attention. Jon's eyes are like the ancient pools of Valyria in the old tales, their dark waters hiding the volcanic fire beneath. She reaches out one of her hands, not sure exactly what she needs except to be so much closer to him. He grabs her hand and laces his fingers with hers so that they are palm to palm.

They roll around the bed each competing for the top position. It reminds Dany of her dragons wrestling in midair. Nipping and clawing at each other, tumbling in the sky, falling so far down it looks like they might slam into the earth and catching the air at the last moment to soar above the clouds.

She can feel Jon's flat belly slapping into her curvy one. Pulling out almost all the way, then plunging into her depths. He grabs her hands tight and holds them between his own. His eyes do not leave hers. They could ride each other all night.

Dany moves a hand away from his to gain traction as she spins over on top of him. He slips out of her for a moment which she quickly corrects as she straddles him. Her silver hair is hanging loose, the pink tips of her nipples peak out from the veil of her tresses. "So beautiful," he murmurs as both his hands travel up her body from her hips finally settling on her breasts.

Dany leans forward into his torso seizing his lips between her teeth and biting hard enough she tastes rust. He clutches her hips and ass, pulling her forward and then flips her so she is beneath him again. He pounds into her, thrusts harder and faster as she arches upward to meet every stroke. "Dany," he cries out with every blow. The bedchambers are the only place he uses that name.

She wants him closer. She wants him enveloped inside of her. They are two bodies joined together in the dance of life, each forever separate but together somehow made one. Dany begins to climax, whimpering and writhing against him. She calls out his name and feels him contract and the warm flood of his own release. He lays on top of her for some time, both utterly spent.

He then rolls off her propping his head on his arm and smiles tenderly down at her, lazily tracing her slick skin of her chest. She smiles back at him, her earlier anger completely forgotten. "Sorry I left you to endure that dinner alone."

He laughs. "I never thought I would be at the head table of any noble banquet before. When I was young, I didn't sit at the family table during the big meals, Lady Stark wouldn't allow it." A flash of righteous indignation appears on Dany's face. "No, really it was fine. I usually could drink much more than my father would normally allow and sneak out of the hall anytime I liked."

Dany pictures him as a young boy, his somber face not betraying the hurt he must have felt. She traces his face and then leans in to kiss him. Jon kisses her back and it looks like they might have another go, when suddenly there is urgent knocking on the door.

The shock she feels is mirrored by Jon's face.

She flies off the bed and quickly puts on her nightgown as Jon scrambles into his own clothes. "Coming."

Missandei enters without waiting, "Forgive me, your Grace but there is a fire in the soldier's quarters!"

Jon exchanges an anxious look with Dany and pushes past Missandei into the hallway. Dany turns to the window overlooking the Wolf's Den and sees an orange fire burning in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2 The Fires at Wolf's Den

Jon runs down the hall, his shirt half off and struggling to put his boots on between strides. He hears a bell faintly ringing outside, signaling the danger. For a moment, he wonders if it is safe to leave her there. He knows in his bones that this is no accident. _Cersei?_ He passes an Unsullied soldier heading towards Dany's chambers.

 _She'll be fine. Focus._

He sees Davos running towards him with a small band of Stark guards. "Jon! We've been looking for you." The old man coughs and tries to catch his breath, holding his head down.

Jon doesn't break his pace and Davos and the guards scramble after him. He points to two Stark bannermen and looks them in the eye, "You two, protect the Queen! Go, now!" They turn back towards Dany's chambers and start running in that direction.

"What happened," Jon demands as they bound towards the courtyard, passing confused lords and ladies leaving their bedchambers in their nightshifts.

"Not sure," Davos pants out as they continue to run. "Bell started to ring and one of ours said Wolf's Den is on fire. Many Unsullied are trapped, including Grey Worm."

He thinks of Robb dying at the Twins by hands sworn to protect him. "Sabotage?"

"Sounds about right with our luck." Davos answers wryly.

Jon reaches for Longclaw and realizes he left it back at his own bedroom to remain inconspicuous when he made his way to Dany's chambers. _Dammit._ "Davos, give me your sword."

Davos slaps it into Jon's outreached hand. "Five fingers missing never helped much. Do me a favor, Jon, don't let me die." Jon grips it, then twirls it in his hand to get a feel for the unfamiliar sword.

They pass Lady Wynafryd in the great hall, clutching her dressing gown and looking bewildered. "Your Grace." She gives an awkward curtsy, her unbound chestnut hair touching the ground. "What's going on," she wonders, but her words already fall behind Jon as he moves swiftly ahead. More panicked people fill the great hall and spill out into in the New Castle's courtyard where the snow lightly falls. The freezing air stings like a thousand needles in his lungs. He feels the stinging on his exposed chest and briefly flashes to the night his brothers struck daggers in it. _I won't let that happen. Never again._

He hears Ghost desperately scratching in his cage near the stables. He doesn't trust anything or anyone. "Davos, get Ghost, we need him."

Jon makes his way towards the other end of the courtyard passing Marlon who stands with other members of House Manderly. The Master of the Port gives perfunctory instructions for people to stop the fire. Jon's eyes narrow and he makes a note to interrogate him later.

The ancient castle of the Wolf's Den shares an expansive common courtyard with New Castle which the Manderlys built long before Aegon's Conquest. The Wolf's Den has a storied history, serving cadet branches of the Starks for thousands of years. The old castle had even served as a prison occasionally, its dungeons occasionally flooded with the sea water never far from the surface. A new prison was constructed outside the city and this had remained unoccupied except for the overflow of official guests of New Castle.

Jon runs towards the burning building with its windows billowing smoke and screams that ripped through the night. His own men and Dany's Unsullied soldiers desperately work to open the gates of the old keep. He can hear muffled shouting from inside the gate as those trapped work to get free.

He looks and sees that many Manderly men pitch in to help, but a good portion of them stand around the courtyard and watch in curious detachment not lifting a finger.

 _They will let them die. Treachery._

He grabs one of the idle guards by the collar and lifts him up."If you cowards do not make every effort to save these soldiers, I will execute you myself!" He wonders if he'll get a sword in the back before he can keep his promise. "Move!" His words have the effect he wants and stir the Manderly guards into action, moving to get buckets of water to dose the fire.

Ghost bounds up to him, having been freed by Davos and stands guard next to him.

Jon approaches the gate where the men struggle lifting the wooden latch. It is a heavy beam, almost the size of a whole trunk of ironwood. He gets down on his knees and tries to push it up with his shoulder, but something has blocked it. Davos has finally made it across the courtyard, breathing hard from exertion. When physical strength won't budge the door, Jon picks up his sword and starts hacking the large wooden latch. The only thing he seems to damage is his sword when it hits the metal spikes. One of the men shouts, "It's been jammed from the other side! And it looks like the pins are either damaged or missing. If we could get to the other side, we might be able to lift it."

Jon steps back and looks above him at the ancient fort. "There must be another way in."

He can hear the soldiers inside cry out in their mother tongues, former slaves far away from home believing they would fight to save humanity and instead will die an ignominious death by fire. The rage grows inside him.

"Your Grace!" Jon whirls around and sees little Lady Wylla on the grounds along with household staff, including Marlon. The light of the fire dances on her green hair making it shimmer and for a moment, he wonders if the Manderlys are truly related to mermen. "Follow me, I know a secret way into the castle through the godswood." She turns and starts running towards the enclosed wooden grove without looking back.

"No wait, Lady Wylla! Stay here with your family," Master Marlon bellows.

Jon hesitates for a moment, still unsure of anyone. He thinks back to Wylla's pledge earlier and thought at the time she reminded him of Arya. He decides. "Davos, stay here and get this bloody gate open!" He grabs a few Stark and Unsullied men and starts running into the godswood. "Ghost, to me!"

The trees of White Harbor's sacred woods differ from the ones in Winterfell. This godswood is a tangle of Southern trees; birches and elms with some oaks as well. The silence here feels almost like it has swallowed all the screams from the burning men as an offering. The heart's tree reigns over all the godswood. The weirwood's primordial branches break through the walls of the Wolf Den twisting into its very foundations.

Jon feels decidedly uncomfortable as he enters this sacred space. A heavy pressure grips his heart. He has not been near a weirwood tree since he . . . came back. He avoided the sanctuary in Winterfell, even when he wanted to take comfort there in memories of his father. A sense of dread washes over him as he sees the face of the pale-white tree with the red slashed face looking like a furious cry frozen in time. _I'm not supposed to be here._

"Your Grace, this way! The passageway is just under there!" The girl is running towards an overhanging of the castle battlements. She disappears behind a thicket of bushes next to them. "What are you do-. . ." He hears Wylla gasp and then silence. He catches up to where she went and finds a band of city guards standing over the body of an Unsullied soldier. The guards look surprised to see him.

 _Betrayal._ _They did this on purpose._ A cold fury overtakes him and he lunges at the guards, not missing a beat. His men bring up the flank and fight as well. Jon hacks and slashes through them as easily as if they were water, their blood bathing his face and the thin layer of his clothes. The metal sings and he feels the humming inside. He takes up the effortless dance and his mind completely empties of thought.

He is pure motion.

Ghost also joins him in the fray, ripping the throats out of the guards in one shake.

Jon hears Dany's soldiers screaming, deliberately trapped by these Northmen. His kills are quick and without flourish, his only objective is to save as many of the men as possible. Only one city guard remains. He holds Wylla by the arms and trembles in fear. "Stop, I'll kill her I swear." The man's hands are shaking in terror.

Jon pauses for a moment, assessing the guard. Then he hacks the guard's head off in one swing.

Jon reaches down to Wylla and pulls her up. "Are you alright?" She nods mutely. Her green hair is streaked with red. He doesn't have time to comfort her. "Good, now, where do we go from here?"

She breaks off and starts running down the side of the castle behind the ancient growth. The thicket hides a passageway into a tunnel. As they approach, thick smoke marks the entrance of the tunnel. Hundreds of rats are scampering out of the passageway, instinct to live guides them like a beacon. He can smell burnt flesh. The girl keeps running further down the halls.

Jon catches up to her and places a hand on her shoulder. _Not another child will burn._ "Wylla, good work! Now, go on back to the courtyard."

Wylla considers Jon's orders and judging by her irritated expression it seems she will reject it. Instead she points further down the tunnel. "Just keep going, the main hall is that way!" They find an Unsullied man stumbling and coughing. The child grabs his arm. "Here, I'll help you find the way out."

The heat grows stronger as he and his men run farther down the corridor. They find an inferno in the great hall. The fire hisses and pops and the hot smoke spreads across the ceiling wall. The flames expand and contract like it's a demon's own breath. Men burn, their screams of pain jarring Jon into action. He tears down a tapestry near him and tackles the nearest man.

His right arm catches a lick of flame and he yells in pain. _Still alive._

He looks across the hall and sees that Davos and the others have managed to get the gate opened, despite whoever tried to undermine them. Many Unsullied cannot reach the gate due to the bonfire that separates half the room. He motions to them, "Over here, there's another way out!"

Jon and his men direct the soldiers to the secret tunnel and go back and forth helping with the injured.

He pulls aside a soldier, "Where's Grey Worm?"

"Not know," the soldier responds in broken Common Tongue between racking coughs. "Torgo Nudho went that way. Find others." He motions down the burning hallway.

"Go, help your brothers! I will find him." The Unsullied picks up an injured soldier whose flesh is so burnt it falls in strips off his body. The frame of the roof start to groan, the wind blowing through the hall sounds like the moans of those generations that once called this place home.

He sees things in the fire. The shadows of corpses laughing in the flames.

Jon knows it won't be long before the whole building collapses. He hears a window break and its shattering glass sounds like chimes when it hits the ground. The smoky layer grows in depth in the Den bounded by the walls of the rooms. "Grey Worm, where are you," Jon implores. An image of Dany mourning over Grey Worm's body flashes in his head. _I won't let that happen._

He keeps a brisk pace examining each room. He finally finds Grey Worm, trapped with another soldier underneath some rubble. The smoke heavily fills the room, making it almost impossible to breathe. "Jon Snow should not be here," Grey Worm mumbles. "Leave. Now."

"Not without the Queen's Captain." Jon rouses the lethargic men and with their help makes haste of the debris freeing them. "Move it, soldiers!" They lurch down the corridor holding on to each other as they attempt to get their bearings. Finally, they make it to the main hall which looks like one of Seven Hells itself. The smoke seems to seep into the corners of his brain, making everything foggy.

He keeps seeing faces in the shadows. He glimpses a grinning king with no eyes and a mouth with razor sharp teeth.

Suddenly, a wooden scaffold breaks loose and tumbles on top of him. He can't see what happened to Grey Worm. Jon fights to break free, but the heavy air makes him move slower.

Eventually, his mind quiets and he stops struggling and just stares into the flames.

 _I'm going to die._ It seems he has been chasing it for so long, it comes as a surprise now. An overwhelming sense of loss overcomes him. _Dany, forgive me._

He feels disoriented, like he's falling without moving. Everything slows down. The angry blaze caresses the air like a lover.

Images keep flashing within the fire.

She hovers above him, her face contoured in ecstasy and her body burns hotter than the sun. The fire casts its golden light on her body as she body moves. Her eyes are closed and her expression suddenly changes from pleasure to pain. She screams out his name in agony and it rips through his soul. A coin flips in the air. Blood pours everywhere. It covers the deep forest of the wolfwood, the waters of the god's eye, the arid wastelands past the red mountains, the craggy hills in the west, it flows all the way to milk grass beyond the shadowlands.

He sees mothers giving birth to children and then dying. One after the other, a line of them stretching to the beginning of time. Corpses clutter the land. Time expands, contracts and disappears. The grief remains.

Then a shift, a divergence, the breaking of the world.

He watches a world remade and soars above the land as ice spreads as rapidly as his wings. He hears the singing of his brothers.

Visions dance rapidly in the flames. A child in the snow. A raven in the forest. Hands clasped before a heart's tree. A pack of wolves hunting by a frozen river.

The Others march forward as slow and as sure as a glacier, carving up creation and leaving a gash on the land.

He lands among the stern faces of the Old Gods. He holds her hand, she's been with him the whole time.

He feels a cold hand on his shoulder and turns to face the ice blue eyes. He has known those eyes so long, he almost welcomes them as a friend.

He feels the blade this time as it pierces his heart. The fire burns within him. The light flares up and takes out everything in its path. It then becomes the sun breaking the new day spilling its light over the mountains and white fields, splashing its color across the sky.

He sees her again, one last time before the end. She stands before him naked amidst the fire, the tongues of the flames licking off the remnants of her clothes. She looks unworldly, but the panicked expression she has is all too human. "Jon! Jon! Please don't be dead."

She struggles to move the wooden beam off him, using all her strength to budge it. "Jon, please," she cries. "Wake up! Help me!" She shakes him and then presses her lips against his and blows air in a desperate move.

Jon gasps and touches the side of her face. "You're real?" Everything confuses him.

"Yes, I'm real. Now let's go!" Once again, she attempts to move the scaffold and this time he helps push it off.

He staggers up and leans on her bare shoulder. "Daenerys, you're naked, did you know?"

She doesn't answer and they navigate through the inferno. Dany shields him from the flames.

He sees her brush aside a burning tapestry as if it were a cobweb. He thinks he's still seeing visions. Davos meets them halfway through the burning building. He slings one arm of Jon's over his shoulder and drags him into the courtyard. Unsullied forces pack the courtyard and spill into the godswood. Jon spots Grey Worm covered in soot and hacking up a lung. He drifts in and out of unconsciousness. Davos holds up his head and giving him water. He feels the wet tongue of Ghost licking his hand.

People form a water brigade to stop the fire spreading. The snow starts falling heavier.

 _Where did she go?_ He looks around him. _Was she real?_ "Where is she?"

Davos spares a glance at the old keep. Jon stares in horror at the bonfire. _Daenerys!_ He fights to stand, but the old man pushes him down like he's light as a feather. "You, stay put. Seems she's got a few tricks left."

The scaffolds of the Wolf's Den shudder and heave as the roof starts to collapse. He hears a woman screaming and sees people trying to hold back Lady Wynafryd as she struggles. She breaks free and runs towards the inferno before she's tackled again. "Wylla! No, somebody please," she begs. "She's still in there!" She lets out a keening wail.

 _Wylla must have gone back inside after we left her._

He sees a figure emerge from the Wolf's Den. She stands at the entrance of the burning building framed by the fire, a figure dark against the angry orange flames. Her silver hair swirls around her as the firestorm rages. Everyone stops what they are doing and stand in mute wonder. She carries the listless child in arms, and although she looks like the Mother personified, there is no gentleness in her face. She presents Wylla at the feet of her sister.

Her hard eyes assess all the men and women before her. Her fury seems barely contained and if she breathed fire, there might be no one left in her wake. "Which one of you betrayed us?"


	3. Chapter 3: Those Who Would Harm You

Chapter 3

 _She does know how to make an entrance._ Tyrion bears witness to a scene that he feels certain will be told in song from the taverns of King's Landing to the brothels of Volantis in the future. He surveys the courtyard and notes that these Northerners look properly awestruck and humbled. _It shall go hard on those who sought to harm her people._

Daenerys stands completely naked and covered in soot in front of the inferno that used to be Wolf's Den. The smooth planes of her body glow in the golden light of the fire. She reminds Tyrion of the gilded harpy that the people of Ghis worshiped. But she installs more terror than any goddess could hope to inspire because Daenerys truly is fire made flesh. A servant from the Manderly household runs up to her with a cloak and she gives them a contemptuous glare. She has no shame and bears no patience for any sense of false modesty. "Tend to your mistress instead," she commands. Tyrion gets a good look at the child for the first time. Her hair is singed and half her face looks burnt. He wonders if the Queen only delayed the inevitable, but life is always full of surprises.

Tyrion quickly scans the courtyard and finds Jon coughing up a lung, Davos has flung a cloak over him as he nurses a burn on Jon's left arm. Missandei tends to Grey Worm who might have suffered a concussion. She is helping him to his feet and he moves around slowly. _This will set us back even if most of the soldiers got out._ Varys moves among the gathering small folk, having made himself scarce during the banquet. Servants and soldiers from the house are tending to the wounded.

Lady Wynafryd weeps over her little sister, begging her to stir and speak. When the child does manage to half-whisper something to her sister, a brilliant smile breaks across the Lady's face. "She's alive! You saved her!" She turns to Daenerys and kneels in front of her in supplication. "My Queen, I can never repay the debt my family owes you."

Daenerys does not answer at first. Instead, she again stares down every person in her immediate vicinity. The uncomfortable silence is only punctuated by the moans of the injured and the crackling of the fire. "The only debt I demand is the life of those who betrayed me."

Silence. _The brave conspirators must not be feeling so brave now._ Tyrion sees Jon stumble to his feet and grab a sword.

"I do not know who did this, your Grace, but they are no friends of the Manderlys. I want them dead, same as you." A hard expression settles on the young lady's face and she stands to face the crowd.

Jon has made his way to Daenerys and places his borrowed cloak over her. She subtly shifts position to help him stand. Even in their battered states, they play every bit the part of royal consorts.

The Lady of White Harbor continues, "You swore an oath to my grandfather, to this House, to the King in the North. Queen Daenerys could have turned her backs on the North as we face our most desperate hour, instead she and her forces came here to defend us and faced not hospitality, but treachery. My little sister could have died! Who here will destroy us before the Others even come? If you know who did this speak!"

A Manderly guard steps forward. "It was him," he accuses as he points his finger at Master Marlon. "I saw him speaking to some city guards. Then later I saw them fiddling with the locks of the gate. He ordered it!"

 _And yet the guard chose to do nothing about it until now. How convenient_ , Tyrion mused. He speaks out, "What's your name?"

"Gareth."

"Gareth, if you saw them messing with the locks, why didn't you do anything about it at the time?"

"Because Master Marlon had already told us that he was overseeing the accommodations for the soldiers. I didn't think it was my place to question him." _The man seems sincere enough._

Marlon looks shocked, like all the blood had drained out of him. _Shocked that he got caught or that he is accused,_ Tyrion wondered. He remembered all too well what it was like to be accused of something that he did not do. "What do you have to say for yourself, Master Marlon?"

"It wasn't me," the old steward addresses Daenerys. "I swear I had nothing to do with this!" Daenerys eyes are as clear as glass in the light, and they hold no mercy. He turns to Wynafryd. "My Lady, I beg you, I have served your grandfather for nearly 30 years. I would never harm this House or his family!" She remains silent in front of him, her mind already accepting the accusation.

Jon stands a dark figure next to the Queen, who seems to radiate light from within. Tyrion gauges the reaction around him, all eyes are on the two of them in anticipation of their next move.

Marlon makes a final attempt at clemency by addressing Jon. "My King, please see reason. I did not do this! I was born here… I knew your grandfather Rickard Stark. I fought for your father when they rebelled against the Mad King."

Jon clears his throat and then rasps, "Master Marlon, when I first met you today, you spoke harshly of foreigners coming to these shores. You claimed you could not find accommodations for these troops and yet when you did, you placed them here where foul play lead to deaths of many."

A spark seemed to light in Marlon, "And they shouldn't be here! I still believe that. They do not know our ways. They will change the face of this land and displace the people already here."

"So, you did seek to harm them, didn't you," Daenerys accuses. _It's very nearly done for him,_ Tyrion observes.

"I may wish them gone, but I did not set fire to the Wolf's Den." Tyrion is almost certain Marlon is lying. The blank expression he has adopted feels like a deliberate mask. _And yet . . ._

"I noticed in the courtyard, you didn't make much of an effort to help free the Unsullied men." Jon ponders this, weighing the evidence against the accused.

"Like I said, I may wish them gone, but I did not set fire to the Wolf's Den," Marlon states defiantly.

A flash of anger crosses Jon's face before he asks one final question, "Does anyone else have anything to say?"

Another Manderly guard pipes up, "Aye, I saw him talking to those same city guards."

"The two witnesses against Master Marlon were there from the start trying to open the gate to release the men," Jon testifies. "I found the city guards in the godswood, trying to block the secret passageway, killing an Unsullied soldier and holding Wylla. We killed them all."

A calmness settles over the Queen. Tyrion has seen this look before. _It's done then_. "Master Marlon, I, Daenerys of the House Targaryen sentence you to die for cowardly setting fire to the Wolf's Den and placing my forces in harm's way after you were duty bound to protect them." She turns to the nearest Unsullied guards. "Take him and throw him in the fire so he can feel what it's like."

 _Gods no, don't burn him Daenerys._ Tyrion moves to step forward, praying he can reason with her in time.

Unsullied soldiers take Marlon by the arms as he protests. Jon leaves the queen's side and places his hand on the soldiers to stop them. "No, as the Warden of the North, this is mine."

Marlon now realizes he has no chance of pardon. "Warden or King?" He laughs and spits on the ground. "You gave away your kingdom, didn't you? To the Dragon bitch and her unnatural soldiers. Let the Others take you then!"

Even in Jon's weakened state, he makes short work of the former Master of the Port. The guards hold down Marlon, who still struggles to remain with the living. The crowd becomes silent as Jon addresses them, "As Warden of the North, it is my duty to protect you against those who would harm you." He points to Marlon. "This man has chosen to harm you by reducing our ability to fight the Great War. Master Marlon, for this crime I sentence you to die." Marlon makes one final plea for mercy before Jonlops his head off in one clean cut.

All Tyrion can hear is the crackling of the fire in the background.

Jon addresses the crowd, "Anyone who betrays their liege lord or sovereign will bear the same fate, is that clear?" The crowd murmurs in agreement. "Good, now let's tend to the injured."

Jon returns to Daenerys side. He gently brushes her silver hair off her face. She stops and inspects his injured arm. "It's just a little burn, it'll be fine," Jon assures her quietly. Then they both begin to move into the crowd and talk to the injured and those that are helping them.

The snow begins to fall heavier and it works as a blessing in tempering the fire.

Varys approaches Tyrion as he works his way through the crowd gathering information from lieutenant and foot soldiers. "Not exactly the open-armed welcome we hoped for in the North, is it Lord Tyrion?"

"No, it is not," Tyrion admits grimly. "The petty feuds persist, and yet the dead don't care. Varys, you still have spies here, correct? I want the name of everyone who might have had a hand in this, who hopes to crawl back into the woodworks. This cannot go unpunished."

"I've already got my little birds at work." They both watch Jon and Dany as they speak to Grey Worm and Missandei. The Queen gently holds Jon's arm and he straightens her cloak to protect her from the elements. "They do make for a striking couple, don't they? So affectionate. I saw the Queen as she ran into that burning building. Not a moment's hesitation. All the while, calling out his name. Very touching."

Tyrion grimaces. This had gotten out of hand before it even started. She ran off to Eastwatch when last Jon needed her and lost one of her dragon in the process. Still, he feels the need to defend his Queen. "It could be a good match. The North is the largest kingdom, Jon has already proven himself a reliable ally and he would never challenge her claim."

"Oh, certainly, Lord Snow has proven himself a steadfast ally," Varys agrees. "His people though . . . that seems to be another story."

Tyrion walks closer to where Jon and Daenerys are. He sees them talking with concern to the soldiers and civilians who surround them. An excited hum seems to have taken over the crowd. Despite the horror of the fire, they have witnessed something extraordinary. People speak in reverent tones with the Mother of Dragons and the King in the North. A more cynical man would call it worship. "If the conspirators wanted to create a greater divide between the North and the Queen, they might have just done quite the opposite. They have seen two leaders take their lives in their own hands and physically rescue their people."

"A truly inspiring act, to be sure. Jon Snow also stopped the Queen from burning Marlon," notes Varys. "I for one am glad that we did not have to witness another person tossed on the pyre." Varys shudders slightly.

While the scene of showing affection towards Daenerys gives him a fleeting sense of satisfaction, Tyrion feels a cold shadow pass over him as he contemplates the future. They face many other challenges ahead in the North, both from its people and from the even greater threat. He shivers. "Come Lord Varys, let's get inside and find some warmth and wine."

They eventually find their way to a solar near the quarters Tyrion has been assigned. Most of the servants are still helping outside, so they must find the wine on their own. Tyrion stokes the wood in the fireplace and warms his hands before taking the wine offered by Varys. "Remind me, Lord Varys, why haven't we gone to the Isles where they worship the gods of tits and wine like we promised all those years ago?"

"My old friend, that would surely bore adventurers such as ourselves. Nothing more invigorating than the games we play."

"I'm not so sure anymore." Tyrion refused to leave the Game when Shae, the whore he thought he loved, begged him to those many moons ago. Now he could think of nothing better than being far away from the center of the drama; away from saboteurs, and dragons, and White Walkers and unburnt queens and so-called resurrected kings. "Nothing feels more invigorating than life, but the dead don't seem interested in that game."

"The dead have games of their own. Games that we seem destined to play, whether we want to or not. But enough talk about the dead," Varys waves off the unpleasant subject. "Let's talk about the living. Has a formal marriage alliance been proposed?"

"Well, no," Tyrion admits. He told Daenerys that she must be open to marriages when they headed to Westeros, but has since avoided a direct conversation about the most obvious one. "Tonight, I spoke to her in vague terms about such matters and the Queen indicates that she is receptive to an alliance with Jon Snow."

"It's a blessing that they seem so . . . compatible. Did you know that the Queen's cabin was directly above mine during our voyage from Dragonstone?"

"And her cabin was right next to mine during the journey." On the very first night, Tyrion watched Jon enter Daenerys room and each night proceeding he heard . . . evidence of their compatibility. He had been shocked when he saw Jon make the first move. While they obviously were attracted to each other, Tyrion didn't think that Jon was that bold, at least not from what he knew of the boy before. They would go about it all night, loudly moaning and making Tyrion imagine things he tried to keep his lecherous mind from imagining. He would drift off for a couple of hours, only to be woken by cries of ecstasy. On more than one occasion, he found his hand drifting under the covers.

Now Tyrion, along with all the rest of population of New Castle, had a crystal-clear image of arguably the most beautiful woman in the world to pair with the fantasies he has tried to repress. She has a perfectly shaped body, breasts shaped like tears about to fall, hips wide and smooth and the thatched silver between her thighs matched the hair on her head. _Gods, it has been too long._ Tyrion finds his self-imposed celibacy since Shae died growing thin. _Jon is truly a lucky bastard._

Which reminds Tyrion, "What do you know of his mother? Usually it's a bastard's _father_ that is the unknown factor." After all these years, he still finds the fact that the 'honorable' Eddard Stark fathered a bastard puzzling.

A smile spreads across Varys face as he recalls the gossip. "Ah, one of the great mysteries of Robert's Rebellion. Ned Stark did not kiss and tell, apparently. The most persistent rumor is Lady Ashara Dayne. They seemed to have grown quite close during the Tourney of Harrenhal and there was talk that he went to Starfall after Robert's forces took King's Landing. She died shortly after Lord Stark returned her brother's sword to their family. Lady Ashara threw herself from a tower, whether from a jilted love or from sorrow of her brother's passing, it's hard to say."

 _Ned Stark broke some girl's heart? Not so honorable after all_ , Tyrion supposed.

"Other contenders are a wet nurse named Wylla, who I believe still resides at Starfall. I've even heard a tale that the bastard's mother was a fisherman's daughter from the Three Sisters. And still other stories whispered are just too fanciful to contemplate."

"Starfall is in Dorne," Tyrion ponders. "Seems unlikely Ned ventured so far South to father a bastard during the height of the of the Rebellion, does it?"

Varys widens his eyes and leans in for an artful whisper. "Again, it's all very mysterious." _Mysterious, that's the problem with bastards._

"I'm not sure how the South would take a Northern bastard consort for their Queen." The Westerosi prejudice against them ran deep. Bastards created chaos in terms of inheritance. When Aegon the Unworthy legitimized all his bastards it sparked the Blackfrye Rebellion that reared its ugly head for generations. And of course, the War of the Five Kings began because of his siblings' indiscretions. He wondered how Lady Stark abided the living threat to her children's inheritance for so long. _The blood will tell_ , was the old Westerosi warning against bastards. He briefly thought of Joffrey and the monster he became. _What will the blood tell of you, Jon Snow?_

Tyrion went down the list of reasons why it would be a bad match. "Also, Jon Snow decided to bend the knee without even asking for marriage. We may want to hold out until after we deal with this Night King threat. There may be another Southern family we need to form an alliance with to secure the Throne."

"Hmmm, a Southern family from a great House. A marriage that could unite the kingdom. People that are at the brink of war right now. A Lannister-Targaryen alliance could be a powerful thing."

Tryion furrows his brow trying to understand where Varys is going before it hits him. He breaks into laughter, but Varys appears dead serious. "Do you really think my brother would leave Cersei's side to marry the woman who almost killed him with her dragon? That Daenerys would abide the man who literally murdered her father, whose family ordered the slaughter of hers and sent those who remained into exile?"

"Who said anything about your brother? You have the name, you can have the title. You are the trueborn son of Tywin Lannister. You have a strategic mind and know how to play the game of politics. Why not you?"

Tyrion never even entertained the notion before this moment. Images flashed before his mind, him placing the cloak upon Daenerys, sharing a bed with her and even the image of a beautiful healthy child. All of it seemed wrong. "Because Daenerys Targaryen is in love with Jon Snow," he blurts out knowing its truth even as he said it. "I for one don't want to compete with a man like him, because I would lose. And I don't like to lose. Besides, I think I would be even more unpopular than a bastard Northerner. I am a kinslayer, a supposed kingslayer and according to some, a demon monkey." Tyrion takes a deep breath and says what he has resisted in his mind for the last two weeks. "If Daenerys marries anyone, it will probably be Jon Snow."

Varys smiles, and Tyrion has the distinct feeling that the Spider has steered him to this conclusion during this whole conversation. "Well then, I think we should start discussing the marriage contract, don't you?"

"Let's wait until we get to Winterfell, at least. I have the feeling his family will have some say in the matter." He wonders what Sansa will think of this Dragon and Wolf alliance. His sense of curiosity makes him want to get on the road and get going as soon as possible to find out. The Hand and the Spider talk a few more hours until the break of dawn. Through the window, they can see the embers of what remains of the Wolf's Den glow in the distance.

"Well, my friend, I think I must leave you and see what my little birds have discovered about any other traitors."

Tyrion sees Varys to the door and as they open the door to the hall, they see Daenerys and Jon wearily making their way towards her chambers. They have clearly been up all night doing what they could to help. He feels momentarily guilty for seeking shelter during the night. That doesn't stop him from calling out to Daenerys, "Your Grace, I believe Jon's chambers are in the other wing."

They stop and Jon looks properly embarrassed. "He's right, I should – "

"We stay together," she interrupts Jon and stares down Tyrion, daring him to question her further. When he says nothing, they resume their walk to her compartments and close the door.

"They would be so much easier to handle if this was merely a political arrangement," Varys observes.

Tyrion remains silent. Something he heard about once about Rhaegar crosses his mind just then. _Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna and thousands died for it._


	4. Chapter 4: Alive

Chap 4: Alive

He studies her face as she sleeps.

Her face is serene in its repose. Although her porcelain skin has a translucent quality, it is not unblemished. Soot and ash mar her fine features. They stumbled into Dany's chambers in the wee hours of the morning exhausted from the night's chaos. He peeled off his clothes while Dany plopped the borrowed wrap on the ground before they both collapsed on the bed. He pulled her tight to his chest and the last thing he heard was Dany mumbling something about a hot bath before they both passed out. At some point, she rolled off him onto her back, where she now lies. He turns to his side and props himself up by his uninjured arm to examine her features further.

He had heard that Targaryens described as almost otherworldly in their beauty, and nothing about Dany dissuades him from that notion. When he first saw Daenerys, he remembered the time he got caught in the Wolfswood during a summer storm and saw lightning strike a tree near him. Seeing her felt like a jolt through his body and his mouth tasted like the blade of a knife afterwards. He suspected she would be beautiful, but he didn't think anything could have prepared him for it. He tried to hide how much her mere presence thoroughly rattled him, which he supposed she used frequently as a strategy.

After they started to share a bed, he once clumsily tried to describe how she looked like a goddess. She put her finger to his lips, "Please don't. That's not me," she insisted. It was almost a plea for him not to get caught up in the myth of Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Grass Sea. A myth she willingly cultivated. How often through the years did she wear that persona like a cloak? How many people saw the woman beneath it? Even among her closest allies, there remained a distance. Men clearly desired her; he could see that in Jorah, he even suspected it in Tyrion and he now imagines all White Harbor has her vestige clearly burned in their brains. Deep down though, he didn't think many people knew her. _Never forget who you are, wear it like armor and it can never be used against you._ He knew that feeling all too well and the loneliness that followed with it. He supposed she wanted him to see her as a normal person, not something unusual.

Tonight's events proved that this wasn't the truth either.

The Unburnt.

Missandei practically spat out the word when she named all Daenerys titles the first time he met her. Like he wasn't even worthy of hearing the Queen's titles, let alone stand in her presence. And although a part of him did feel like a boy standing in front of Lady Stark after he did something to displease her, he quickly brushed that intimidation tactic aside and got down to the business of what brought him to Dragonstone in the first place. He never thought about what that word meant.

Until last night.

Unburnt. She stepped through fire for him and the flames did not touch her. She saved him, without a moment's hesitation. Just like she saved the group when they were beyond the Wall. _She saves people from monsters._ Even from the human variety. He can still feel the sting of his arm where the fire licked him. He holds his arm up and sees some blood had seeped through the bandage.

Unburnt, but not untouchable. He lightly traces side of her face; his thumb grazes her full pink lips as she sighs. She's dead tired, and doesn't rouse. Here, she seemed like just a young woman, vulnerable and open. Lovely, yet human.

 _And alive. Wonderfully alive._

He shudders thinking of the visions he saw in the flames. Did the Lord of Light finally make an appearance to him after all this time? To extract the payment for his life restored? _What did it all mean? Did it mean anything at all?_ Was this the future? The past? Or just the delusions of a man on the verge of death?

 _Madness_. He reflects on Melisandre and her flames and the ruin of lives that followed with it. That way lies madness. He pushes it from his mind and concentrates on the woman besides him.

He caresses the side of her neck and feels her steady heartbeat. It's strong and true, a good heart. His fingers move lightly down the center of her neck following a path of smudge marks. A slight laugh escapes in her sleep; she's ticklish. He stops and takes the covers and lifts them off her body. He can see goosebumps form on her skin, her nipples stiffen as they are exposed to the colder air. He touches his finger nail to one and grows even harder. His fingers dance over her flesh, under her breast, the slight curve of her belly and then tangles in the silky silver-gold at the apex of her thighs. He has an overwhelming urge to taste her there. His tongue soon slides smoothly between the lips of her sex. He inhales her and she smells of smoke and wood, the remnants of an ancient castle cling to her. She tastes of cinnamon and warm mead on a frozen winter's day. His tongue laves every fold, circling her sweet spot and then dipping into her center. He feels her grab his head. "J . . . Jon," she breathes between a gasp of pleasure.

He lifts her leg and scoots in between her to get in a better position. She holds his head steady to her by one hand, massaging it as he methodically works her sex. "Ahhhh," she cries out. He takes a moment and lifts his head to see her face contour in desire. Her expressive eyebrows are knotted together in concentration, her free hand grips the headboard as she rides waves of pleasure. Both of his hands rub her upper thigh, then his right arm moves up her body and he nearly screams in pain as his bandage catches on her body causing friction. He ignores the discomfort and finds her breast. He can feel her heart thumping loudly against her chest.

 _Alive. Very much alive._

She places her left hand on top of his right and clutches it. "J . . . J . . . Jon . . . I . . . nnneed . . ." She doesn't finish the sentence, just moans loudly as her breathing becomes more irregular. She squeezes her thighs against his head and toes try to find purchase on his bare back. He doesn't relent, he waits to taste her release. When he finally does, it is sweet and pure in his mouth. He lingers there between her thighs lapping her up until he knows she's sated. Then he crawls up her body, favoring his left side and protecting his injured arm. He kisses her, knowing she can taste herself. She gently strokes his face and scratches his beard. Her eyes beam as she says, "What a splendid way to wake up, I'll have to return the favor sometime."

"The least I could do for you saving my life."

"If this is the reward, I shall endeavor to find more ways to save you, Jon Snow."

"Not if I save you first," Jon counters. She gives him a tender kiss, her lips soft and pliable. His erection presses against her belly, he lifts his body a little and she adjusts under him before he slips inside her. He takes his time, the frantic energy of last night has dissipated. He finds a steady rhythm which she soon matches. Only the throbbing of his burnt arm impairs their passion. He tries to ignore it, propping both of his arms to the side of her. She seems to sense his discomfort. She rolls him over to his left side and wraps her leg over his waist, pulling him close to her. He stretches his right arm above him to find purchase with the headboard, careful to keep it from touching anything. They gently rock together, their bodies pressed and becoming slick with sweat. The passion in him steadily increases, but he remains controlled, determined to make this last. She climaxes again, but he tries to hold on to the feeling of sharing different heartbeats yet somehow being one. When he can hold out no longer, he finds his release and then rolls over on his back. She rests her ear right above his heart. He knows she likes to do that. Perhaps she wants to reassure herself that it still beats.

After a while, they both drift back to sleep. As he wakes up, he knows that they have much work to do. "We probably need to get up. It's nearly midday and we still have to oversee what we will do with the injured troops and plan for the road ahead."

She doesn't move, but murmurs into his chest. "I need a bath. I'm not going anywhere without a hot bath."

He knows how much she loves her baths. Even in the cramped quarters of the ship, she made it a daily ritual. She always smelled so clean and pure and vaguely of spices from faraway lands.

"And you are most definitely going to get one too. We need to make sure that your wound is clean so it doesn't get an infection." She doesn't speak of her husband often, but she did tell him that the great warrior died of an infection made worse by a vengeful maegi. _Death is the first enemy and the last_. That's what Beric told him. It lurks around every corner and just bides its time. Sooner or later, it always wins.

He thinks of the vision in the flames of her crying out in pain and he pulls her tightly to him. _I will not let that happen._ If he held any sway in the universe, this is his most steadfast promise.

After they rest a bit more, she calls for the servants to draw a bath and Jon feels exposed after clearly spending the night, or rather the morning, with the Queen. He thought about getting up before they came and awkwardly returning to his assigned bedchambers, but his exhaustion won over any potential embarrassment of a scandal. He had thrown his thoroughly grimy pants and shirt on for decency but that doesn't stop the handmaids surreptitiously glancing in his direction.

"Please bring Lord Snow's belongings and clothes here," instructs Dany to the servants. If he was less tired, her presumption might irritate him. But as it was, he just numbly nods his assent when they turn for confirmation. _Lord Snow._ He hated that title. He can still hear Alliser Thorne's mockingly address him by that name. It was just one of the many tools his former instructor used to try to insult and break Jon when he first got to the Wall. He supposes there's not a better name for Daenerys to address him formally now. He willingly gave up the title King in the North when he pledged to her. He told himself he didn't care about titles so long as it helps in the bigger objective in fighting the Great War. And yet . . . he couldn't deny the thrill he felt when the Northern Lords first named him the King in the North. It was the cumulation of a thousand dreams he played out as a boy with Robb. _What will the other Northern Lords say about me giving up the title? What will Sansa say? Would I have a different title if Daenerys and I stood before the heart's tree?_ He wants to get back to Winterfell, to his own space with his own things. Not constantly being a guest to strangers. Before he left for the Wall, he had never really traveled at all. He knew his own place and could map out every crevice of Winterfell by heart.

He watches her as she disrobes and eases herself into the steaming hot bath. He wants her as his guest for once in his own chambers, to show her the glass gardens and the godswood. She smiles and holds out her hand to him. "Will you join me?"

He shrugs out of his filthy clothes again and puts a foot into the bath. It almost scalds him. "Gods be good, that is hot. You really are The Unburnt, aren't you?"

She shrugs and hugs her knees. "I like the heat."

He grits his teeth and bears the heat as he slowly eases into the tub that is big enough to hold two and faces her. "There are hot springs under Winterfell, I'd like to take you to them." His mind flashes to an image of Ygritte and the springs of Gendel's cave. _I wanted to take Ygritte there too at one point,_ he thinks unhappily, _but Death found her first_.

"I'd like that." She takes a washcloth and lathers soap on it and starts washing his unbandaged arm. "Keep the other arm outside the tub until the water cools more," she instructs. She scrubs his finger nails first, then works his way up his arm, massaging the muscles as she goes. She scours his chest, removing the grime and leaving him pink with new skin. She lingers over his scars, but says nothing. She knows he doesn't like to talk about it. He grabs her arm and pulls her into a kiss, slopping water over the side of the tub. His arm moves down her back and settles on her round bottom that peaks above the water. He traces her crack until he finds the folds of her sex and delicately parts them. She groans and then lightly catches his lower lip between her teeth. "Don't distract me," she admonishes.

Dany stands up and the water cascades between her breasts and down her body. She slips behind him and cradles his back. Dany instructs him to dunk his head and then lathers soap on his hair. She detangles his locks with her fingers and Jon's scalp tingles with pleasure. "You're good at this," Jon acknowledges as he strokes her left ankle and calf absently.

"Thank you." She kisses the side of his neck gently. After she rinses the soap out, he sinks lower in the tub and rests the back of his head on her breasts. He feels so relaxed, he could fall asleep right there and for a moment, it looks like he does. Then the sensation of falling wakes him up with a start. "Let's look at that burn." She carefully removes the bandage. _It doesn't look that bad. I've had worse burns,_ he thinks as he flexes the hand he burned when he killed a wight and saved Lord Commander Mormont. She gently cleans the new burn with soap and water. "We'll put an ointment on it and bandage it up again."

"Have you ever been burned," Jon asks curiously.

She thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. "I don't believe so, but I don't know. I don't think I really know what it's like to burn."

"Are all Targaryens fireproof?" Jon thinks of Maester Aemon and wonders if he had a skill he had been holding out on at the Wall.

"No," she says definitively and a hard line forms at her mouth. "My brother certainly was not. King Aegon V and most of the other Targaryens of his generation perished at the Summerhall in fire."

Jon remembers the story from Old Nan. Aegon V had already become a legend with tales of his boyhood spent as a squire to the Hedge Knight, Duncan the Tall. He was considered a good and fair king who wanted to make changes to how things were run in the seven kingdoms. But the noble Houses resisted him at every turn. In his old age, he thought what he really needed to enact his vision for Westeros were dragons. He began to pursue every legend on how to hatch them. Summerhall exploded in fire and ended his reign after one such experiment.

"My oldest brother Rhaegar was born on the grounds of Summerhall on the very night of the tragedy," she acknowledges solemnly. Jon thinks he might have heard this once, but after what Rhaegar did to his Aunt Lyanna no one really liked to talk about him in the Stark household.

He flexes his arm and stretches it out trying to determine how badly the burn would affect his ability to fight. It didn't stop him from slicing Marlon's head off. She was about to see that man burned alive. Like Stannis did with Mance. Like Melisandre did with Shireen. Like Aerys did with his grandfather and uncle. He heard she burned Sam's father and brother when they wouldn't bend the knee. _Maybe she is quicker to burn people because she doesn't know what it feels like to be burned._ Then again, he does not know how much pain a person felt when his head was chopped off.

Jon did not want to dwell on these troubling thoughts, so he changes the subject. "I guess it helps to ride a dragon if you can't be burned by one." He turns around to face her and takes up the soap and starts returning the favor of washing her body. She smiles as he cups her breasts and polishes them with the washcloth.

"I guess it does," she replies absentmindedly. He holds out her arm, scrubbing it from her armpits to the tips of her fingers.

"So, tell me what flying is like," he asks as he soaps up her belly, dipping into her belly button.

She thinks about it for a moment. "Flying is like becoming one with the elements. You are the mist in the clouds, the pure, open sky and the terror of the storm." Jon stills his hand and watches her intensely, his dark eyes focused on her light ones. "If you ride a horse you can feel the wind blow in your hair, but you are the wind when you ride a dragon. You slip off the edge of the world and you can almost touch the sun." The room is as silent as a crypt now.

Then Jon speaks, "Sounds like a remarkable experience."

"It is," Dany softly replies. "One day you should join me, Jon Snow."

He smiled at that, thinking of how as a boy he would play he was Prince Daeron riding on his dragon. _Perhaps one day I will._ He recalls the vision of flying over Westeros. He wonders what the Lord of Light is trying to tell him. _You are not my god_.He banishes the intruding thoughts of foreign gods in his mind by leaning over to the woman before him and kissing her. _Not a god nor a goddess, but my Queen._ He slips his hand under the water to find another way to show his devotion. She makes that soft little moan that drives him wild.

A knocking at the door stops any other notions that Jon entertains. "Beg your pardon, your Grace . . . er . . . Jon . . . are you in there?" Jon can hear the distinct Flea Bottom accent of his advisor through the door. He sounds apologetic, and slightly embarrassed, but he's talking loud enough to hear though the heavy wooden doors. Anyone else will surely hear him too. "We have found more conspirators from last night." 

_There's really no point in hiding it anymore, is there?_ "We'll be there shortly. I think it's time to face the day, Daenerys the Unburnt." He stands up and holds out his hand.

She sighs wistfully before she grabs his hand and stands up herself.


End file.
